


Midnight Blue

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, high school au I guess, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras's choice of clothing for prom wasn't exactly traditional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea for a while but then I saw [this poem](http://antiquethemis.tumblr.com/post/48429933341/e-r) and completely lost control of my life.  
> (I've only proofread this once there may be typos just a warning)

If he were the type to point fingers, then he would say it was Jehan’s fault. Then again, if he were the type to point fingers, then he might as well be the type to give his friends big, sloppy kisses of appreciation. If he was that type of person, then immediately after pointing his finger at Jehan, he would have kissed him.

Because, really, it was all because Jehan liked to take friends with him while he was shopping.

It was one of those days, and Enjolras had gotten dragged all around the mall, acting as a pack mule for Jehan’s summer wardrobe. Not that he really minded all that much—he’d found a few nice things for himself, as well, and Jehan was one of those people who were just fun to be around. His glee was infectious.

They were there for a good few hours before Jehan finally decided to call it quits, and they were heading towards the register, making polite conversation.

“Courfeyrac told me he already picked out his suit and everything. He doesn’t want to tell me what it looks like, though, he wants it to be a surprise. So I guess we’re not going to coordinate, but that’s a little cliché, anyways. Or, I mean—are you and Grantaire going to?”

“Why is everyone assuming that Grantaire and I are going together?”

“Well…you are, aren’t you?”

“He hasn’t asked me yet, no,” Enjolras said. “That’s the bare minimum I require. If he actually cares enough to do that, then certainly, I’ll go.”

“Oh,” went Jehan. “What would you wear, then?”

Enjolras shrugged, eyes wandering over the store—and that’s when he saw it, right in his line of sight, like some sort of sign from God.

A long, shimmering, midnight-blue prom dress, hanging in front of the others on the rack.

“Jehan,” Enjolras said, stopping in his tracks. “Hold on.”

Jehan turned to look at Enjolras, before following his gaze to the row of dresses.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Those are really gorgeous, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they are,” he said, walking over and relieving himself of the bags he was toting in order to examine the dress, spreading out the skirt and turning it this way and that.

He cleared his throat, and attempted with the utmost casualness (this was Jehan he was talking to, after all) to ask;

“How do you think it would look on me?”

\---

It wasn’t as if he’d ever been particularly interested in cross-dressing. Though, maybe it was just that he’d never been interested in clothes in general, beyond their necessity in day-to-day life. Assuming Grantaire did, in fact, ask him to prom, he had been planning on wearing a simple black suit—maybe a colored tie to mix things up, but he hadn’t put all that much thought into it.

The dress, though…

He couldn’t help but imagine Grantaire’s face. He was always teasing Enjolras about how much he looked like a girl, after all—which Enjolras determinedly took no offense at—and pointing out women in skimpy dresses, commenting on how Enjolras would look better in them than any lady ever would.

(“Well, of course you would think that,” Enjolras shot back more than once, “you’re a flaming homosexual.”)

The way Enjolras saw things, it was simply a piece of clothing that caught his eye, which was something of an accomplishment in itself. The fact that it was a dress, well…if anyone laughed, he’d punch them in the face.

Besides, if Grantaire were to be believed, he had the hips for it.

\---

“On you?” Jehan asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, I…I think you look good in almost anything, really, but…”

He took the dress down and handed it to Enjolras to hold up in front of himself, before tugging at the fabric to situate it just so.

“Hmm,” he went, “It might be a little bit big for you, but you’ll probably need to get it tailored anyways, unless you plan on wearing, er,” he gestured at his chest, “padding.”

Enjolras nodded, and turned the dress to look over it again, hands trailing down the fabric.

“Know any good tailors?”

Jehan blinked, thinking for a moment, before nodding slightly.

“Yeah, Cosette’s really good with a needle. She’s fixed a few of my clothes before.”

“Well,” said Enjolras, folding the dress over his arm and picking up the bags again. “I suppose I’ll have to make an appointment.”

Jehan looked nothing short of delighted.

\---

A few days later, Grantaire finally found the nerve to ask him to prom. Enjolras, of course, agreed, though Grantaire was somewhat taken aback by Enjolras’s smirk.

He didn’t have time to inquire over the expression before Enjolras kissed him, and reminded him that he was, in fact, expected to dress up.

\---

Cosette proved to be extremely helpful (which wasn’t particularly surprising), tailoring the dress to hug in all the right places and squeeze in none, to the point where Enjolras was legitimately shocked at how good it looked on him. He’d seen select few men who could successfully pull off a dress, but he supposed anything was possible with the right tailor.

(“It doesn’t hurt that you’re drop-dead gorgeous,” Cosette insisted.)

The dress was done a week or so before prom, and Enjolras agreed to let Cosette do his makeup as well. He had been planning to go without, but after the offer, he decided he might as well go all-out.

So, a few hours before prom saw him back at Cosette’s, sitting in her bedroom and getting covered in various beauty products, even going so far as to let her do his hair.

When she finally allowed him to get up and look in a mirror, he turned his head this way and that, before simply saying;

“This is surreal.”

\---

Prom had started an hour ago, and Grantaire was a little upset. He knew he should have made plans to meet Enjolras there, or included him in their carpool—the bastard was probably going to show up at the last second ,talking about how he got caught up working on…some sort of…revolution thing. Grantaire didn’t care, he just wanted his freaking date to be there on the one night they could actually pretend to be a normal couple. For God’s sake, he’d even dressed up and everything!

His mental tirade was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, and he looked up to see a hand, gloved in white, and his eyes trailed up to see…

His mind reeled. His thoughts jumped around in his head something like a lighter that wouldn’t light. The spark was there, but he couldn’t quite come to the conclusion he knew he ought to.

All he could think was that he was staring at the most beautiful person on Earth.

“May I have this dance?”

Suddenly, illumination.

“Holy shit,” Grantaire exclaimed, leaping out of his seat and putting his hands on Enjolras’s shoulders, looking him over…and over, and over again. “Holy shit,” he said again, quieter. “You…what the fuck, why do you look good in everything?”

Enjolras smirked, his lips colored and glistening, and pulled Grantaire out to the floor to dance, letting his date place his hand a little lower on his hips than strictly necessary.

“Took you long enough to show up,” Grantaire grumbled, after he found control of his voice again. Suddenly, his suit wasn’t fitting as well as it should have.

“I’ve been here for at least half an hour,” Enjolras informed him. “I was waiting to see if you’d recognize me.”

“I think I may have checked out your ass a few times, if that makes you feel any better.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and when Grantaire tugged him closer, he went with it, leaning up against him.

“You have no idea how bad I want to fuck you right now,” Grantaire whispered into his ear.

Enjolras shifted to press against the bulge in Grantaire’s pants, smirking.

“Oh, I think I do,” he whispered, before putting a respectable distance between them again and swaying in time to the cheesy music filling the floor.

“Dammit, Enjolras,” Grantaire cursed, face flushed, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you.”

Enjolras shrugged, glancing around.

“You know,” he said, casually, “I never really liked dancing that much anyways.”

Grantaire’s grip tightened around his waist.

“…your place or mine?” he asked.

“Mine,” Enjolras answered immediately.

None of their friends had much to wonder about when they saw the two sneaking out of the building.

\---

The second they were inside, Grantaire pushed Enjolras up against the wall and kissed him, barely registering how strange the lipstick felt, trailing kisses down Enjolras’s powdered jaw to his neck and exposed shoulders, biting and licking at his collarbone before dropping to his knees and pulling up the hem of his dress.

Enjolras gave him a questioning look, mouth turned up in amusement, but Grantaire just grinned, winked, and ducked under the dress, letting it fall back over him as he pulled Enjolras’s hose down to his ankles, underwear (briefs, to Grantaire’s disappointment—the illusion only went so far) quickly following suit.

“You even shaved your legs!” Grantaire noted as he was undressing the blonde, “Who are you?”

“Just thought I’d—“ Enjolras started, though his thought was interrupted when Grantaire took his cock into his mouth, tongue teasing along it. “Uh,” he tried, attempting to get his head together again, “Go all the way.”

Grantaire pulled off of him, because of course he would interrupt a blowjob to make a snarky comment, that was just how things went, wasn’t it?

“ ‘All the way’ means lacy panties.”

Enjolras groaned—partly at the comment, but mostly because Grantaire continued shortly after making it.

“You know what?” Enjolras said, bracing his hands against the door, “Buy me a pair, and we’ll see how far that gets you.”

Grantaire made a noise in the back of his throat that Enjolras took to be pleased, and when the blond bucked his hips up, Grantaire let him, dropping his jaw and allowing Enjolras to rock into him somewhat erratically, until—

“Oh, fuck,” Enjolras cursed, leaning his head back against the wall, “You should—you should probably stop, before—ahh…!”

Grantaire chose to ignore his warning, gripping Enjolras’s hips and dragging his tongue along the bottom of his cock, up to the head and coaxing him to orgasm, Enjolras’s colored lips opening to cry out. Grantaire got him well and through it before popping back out from under the dress, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I really wanted to do that,” he said, standing up and pressing against Enjolras again.

“Really?” Enjolras asked, stepping out of his undergarments while he had the chance, “I would never have guessed.”

Grantaire just put his arms around Enjolras’s waist and lifted him up, carrying him to the bedroom and unceremoniously dropping him on the bed before heading towards Enjolras’s dresser, digging around in the top drawer until he found the necessary preparations and brought them back to the bed.

“Of course, you would remember where I keep those,” Enjolras said as Grantaire settled between his legs.

“It’s the most important information I know.”

“You forgot my birthday last year.”

“But I know where you keep your lu-ube,” Grantaire sung, pulling his tie off and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“No,” Enjolras said, propping himself up on his elbows, “Keep the suit.”

“But it’s a rental.”

“Well, I’ll pay for dry-cleaning.”

Grantaire shrugged, and reached down to unbutton his pants instead—but the moment his attention was elsewhere, Enjolras wrapped his legs around him and threw him onto the bed, getting up and sitting on top of him.

Grantaire stared at him for a moment, face flushed, and Enjolras just proceeded to undo his pants, tugging them down slightly, before—

“Hm,” he said, examining Grantaire. “…turn over.”

“What?”

Enjolras made a spinning motion with his finger, and repeated: “Turn over.”

Grantaire, not particularly object to this plan, did as he was told, folding his arms under his head.

“On your knees,” Enjolras instructed, “Keep your face on the pillow.”

Grantaire listened to Enjolras open the lube as he followed his instructions, turning his head to try and see what was happening behind him. It wasn’t particularly effective, but it quickly became a nonissue when Enjolras slid a slick finger inside of him. Relaxing in that position was something of a trick, but Grantaire managed, so Enjolras added another, spreading his fingers and crooking them downwards, searching—and, having a decent amount of practice, found his target moments after, making Grantaire squirm in front of him, face buried in a pillow.

“God, just fuck me already,” Grantaire groaned, pushing back against Enjolras’s fingers.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life—“

“Really? You seemed pretty sure where my condoms were.”

“Enjolras!”

Enjolras, unperturbed, simply slid a third finger into him, stating, “I’m not ready yet.”

“You’re not ready? Come on…!”

“We wouldn’t be having this problem if you weren’t so eager earlier.”

“Just get it up already! God, you sound like an old man—“

Enjolras removed his fingers, Grantaire nearly giving a sigh of “finally,” except Enjolras decided to put his hand to better use--giving Grantaire’s ass a solid slap.

The brunet gasped in surprise, tensing. Then he made a noise that could only be described as keening, hands fisting the pillowcase under them.

“Oh,” went Enjolras. “Did you like that?”

“Shit—yeah, actually. Holy fuck.”

“Well, we’ll have to explore that one day,” Enjolras decided. “But, for now…”

He gathered up the skirts of his dress, positioning himself behind Grantaire and pushing inside him, taking a little less care than he probably should have, but Grantaire wasn’t complaining.

“Fucking finally.”

Enjolras put his hands on Grantaire’s hips, partly to keep steady and partly to keep his dress from sliding down Grantaire’s back, finding a steady rhythm to rock into him with, and grinning at Grantaire’s gasps of pleasure.

It wasn’t long, however, until Grantaire moved a hand off the pillow to move under himself—and Enjolras growled at this, digging his fingers into Grantaire’s skin.

“No,” he commanded again, chuckling breathlessly when Grantaire whimpered, but followed his instructions regardless.

“Keep your hands on the pillow,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire fisted at the case, gritting his teeth.

“Fuck,” he cursed, “You touch me, then—God, please, Enjolras—“

Enjolras slid his hand around Grantaire’s hip to place it on his cock instead, sliding his palm along the length just once before encircling his fingers around the base and holding tight.

“You’ll wait for me,” he breathed, and at Grantaire’s cry of frustration, he increased his pace, fucking Grantaire until the brunet’s legs were shaking under him, and only when he couldn’t hold on much longer, he moved his hand once, twice, along Grantaire’s cock. It didn’t take much until the brunet was yelling into the pillow, coming into Enjolras’s hand and tightening around his cock, which was all Enjolras could take before he was crying out, too, hand gripping Grantaire’s hip hard enough to leave bruises.  
They stayed like that for a moment, panting and dripping with sweat, but seeing that Grantaire’s legs were close to giving out from under him, Enjolras deemed it wise to remove himself, gathering his dress up and escaping to the bathroom to clean up before he lost the willpower.

He ditched the dress while he was there, throwing it over his curtain rod to deal with later, and when he came back out to his bedroom he found that Grantaire had something of the same idea, judging by the suit crumpled haphazardly on the ground and the Grantaire bundled up in the blankets.

Enjolras thought he should probably say something about treating a rental suit that way, but somehow found himself crawling into bed behind Grantaire instead, tossing an arm over his waist and cuddling up to him.

“Please keep that dress,” Grantaire mumbled, voice somewhat hoarse.

“I plan on it.”


End file.
